


orcrist

by mickleborger



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: sad elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:02:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickleborger/pseuds/mickleborger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel glimpses Orcrist from afar and finds himself emotionally compromised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

There was no mistaking that sword.  He hadn't thought of it immediately, but as he'd idled against the railing of the library balcony it hit him: he knew that sword.  He recognized that hilt.  And he recognized her sister, certainly, but there was something about the way _this_ particular sword stood out against its bearer.  He was too small for it, perhaps, or too stern.  His hands were too broad.  His bearing was too haughty.  It was not his sword.

Erestor cleared his throat behind him and told him off for ogling the guests, and in the time it took him to turn to acknowledge the scribe and then return his attention to the patio the company of Dwarves had moved inside and out of sight.

They would not eat with the visitors, which was undoubtedly the wisest of all decisions they could have made, but he passed the hall on an errand and froze when out of the corner of his eye he saw it.  He saw it in the light, that sword, and he knew Elrond's words before they were spoken.

And he saw a pair of eyes blue like a fountain, and heard a voice clear as the sea-wind; and he saw the Dwarf, with eyes blue like steel, and a voice like the mines of his fathers.

And he remembered a laughter like the pealing of bells at dawn, and an indomitable smile.

And he remembered a rent helm, all of silver.

And he bit his tongue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Erestor runs after him. Chapter told from first person POV rather than third because I'm inconstant scum.

He thinks I do not notice the catch in his voice, the look in his eyes.  He thinks that, in his age, he is master of his passions; or, failing that, competent enough to conceal them.  He thinks that a reclusive librarian spends too much time locked up with his book to know how to navigate the face of another.  He is wrong, of course.  He is wise in many matters, but I have known him long now, and his face is as open as a babe's besides.  Something has wounded him.

It is not the Dwarves, surely: they have done nothing clearly wrong and he is too old for the petty hatred of the Sindar.  It is not Mithrandir: they are better and older friends than most in Imladris.  The Halfling, perhaps?  The Halfling who more than anything embodies the passing of time, who reminds him that he is older now than at Fornost when he was already ancient?  No, I tell myself: this is nothing to a Balrog-slayer.

But then I hear it, whispered among the little Elf-lords.  I hear them, excited and wide-eyed, saying the swords of song are home.

(Home, and I laugh.  They have no more a home than we a High King. )

I find him on a ledge under the northernmost waterfall, brooding.  It does not become him; the fine gold of his hair is drooped in miserable wet clumps around his neck and down his back, and he sits immobile as the stone.   He does not react to my approach, though he surely senses it.  It is not before I kneel in front of him that he looks at me.  He does not speak.

I want to say something.  I want to tell him that he should not be alone, should not be unarmed, should heed his duties (there are always duties).  I want to scold him for leaving, sullenly, without a word, like a coward.  But the words drown in my mouth and I can only stare at him, his eyes hard Noldo steel set in an otherworldly Vanya face.  Cold and hollow now, those eyes that so often shine with kindness.  They do not see me.

I reach out to hold him.  He does not push me away.


End file.
